


The Call

by flaming_muse



Category: Glee
Genre: Episode Related, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-03
Updated: 2012-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-30 13:49:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaming_muse/pseuds/flaming_muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Burt once read something about raising teenagers that said it’s important to tell your kids they can call you day or night and you’ll go get them out of trouble, no questions asked.</p>
<p>set during 3x11 (“Michael”)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Call

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: repercussions of canonical violence

Burt once read something about raising teenagers that said it’s important to tell your kids they can call you day or night and you’ll go get them out of trouble, no questions asked. It makes sense to him, because kids do get in over their heads and don’t know how to get out, and he’d rather be woken from a sound sleep and pick up a kid who has done god knows what and have to bite his tongue about it - at least until the morning - than _not_ get the call or get a very, very different one.

He followed that advice that very day with Kurt and later with Finn when he joined the family, and he reminded them of it from time to time, just in case it might have slipped their minds. And clearly it didn’t, because the phone had rung tonight with Kurt’s voice, so tight and quiet Burt could barely hear him, on the other end.

Sometimes you don’t know if what you’re saying to your kids actually sinks in or goes right out the other ear. Even with a kid as good as Kurt, Burt can’t always tell. But tonight he knows Kurt listened. He knows it was worth every eye-roll when he told him he could call, every “Yeah, Dad, I know.” He knows, because Kurt called him.

The thing the pamphlets don’t say, though, is how the bile rises in your throat as you drive through the deserted streets toward a hospital in the middle of the night and how you want to pound your fists against the steering wheel in frustration when a red light in a huge, empty intersection takes three-and-a-half minutes before it turns and you can keep going. They don’t tell you how hard it is not to speed when you know at this hour a bored cop will pull you over for going forty-three in a forty zone and keep you away far longer than going the limit will. They don’t say how your chest will clench as tight as a vice when the first sign for the hospital comes into sight, like you’re having a heart attack all over again.

And the other thing they don’t tell you is that there’s only so much relief in knowing that it isn’t _your_ kid, your flesh and blood, who is hurt, because you damn well know it could be. There but for the grace of god and another kid’s quick reflexes. If not tonight, another night it could be your kid, and nothing, _nothing_ in the world can ever prepare you for that.

Burt pulls a quick right into the hospital parking lot, the bright lights making him squint. The gates are open to the narrow emergency room lot for the night, and it’s nearly empty. He sees Kurt’s car a little further down the row, parked just a bit askew in the painted lines. He’s never seen his meticulous, careful son leave his car like that.

He tells himself to breathe. He needs to keep it together. One of the hardest parts of being a parent is having to be strong and in control even when you want to fly off the handle. He knows he isn’t the best at it, but he’s damn well going to try.

The first thing Burt is struck by when he pushes through the ER doors is the smell. God, he hates that smell, of disinfectant and unhappy people, and it brings him right back to being in the hospital last year, himself. It makes him feel helpless and weak. But maybe that’s the situation.

The second thing that strikes Burt about the ER is the still, dark figure of his son sitting stiff as a statue in one of the plastic chairs near the intake doors. Burt can’t believe how frail and slight he looks. No, that’s not right, he can’t believe how _tall_ he is, how wide his shoulders are. When did he stop being a boy and turn into a man? And how could he possibly be old enough to handle any of this?

“Kurt,” he says, jogging toward him, and his son raises a pale face in his direction.

“Dad,” he whispers, barely audible, and Burt slides into the seat beside him and offers him the hug he so clearly needs. Kurt holds onto him so tightly; Burt can feel the faint tremors running through him and the wet gasp of his breath against his shoulder. Kurt’s hands clench into Burt’s jacket in a way he’d never wrinkle the material any other time.

He’s safe. Burt can feel it with his hands and see it with his eyes. Kurt is whole and unhurt, beyond the red rimming his eyes and the fear and anger so obvious in them when he pulls back and tries to collect himself. Burt knew he was safe, Kurt had told him, he’d heard Kurt’s voice on the phone and had been able to tell he wasn’t in physical pain, but it isn’t until he sees him there that he can really believe it. A knot in his stomach loosens, and he takes the first deep breath he’s been able to since the phone rang.

Burt wants to ask _so_ many questions, starting with what the hell they’d been doing in that parking garage that landed any of them in the hospital and ending with why the only other person in the waiting room is _Santana_ of all people, who has her back to them and is talking quietly on her phone a little way away. Holding the questions in is one of the hardest things he’s ever done. There will be time for that tomorrow, though. Just not tonight. Tonight is for coming when his son calls.

“Where’s your brother?” he asks instead. He didn’t expect all of Blaine’s friends to be there, but he was surprised not to find Finn sprawled out over a couple of the chairs, too.

Kurt swallows. “Driving Rachel home,” he replies hoarsely. “It’s late. There’s school tomorrow.”

Burt nods and puts his hand back on Kurt’s shoulder. It’s broad, yes, but still not nearly enough to carry the burdens weighing on him. There’s so much for him to navigate, not just the usual mess of everybody’s teenage years, but being picked out and picked on for being gay, for being different. It’s what makes him special, but it’s still too much for him to have to handle, Burt thinks. How can anyone of his age? He’s less alone than he has been in years, but even so...

If Kurt would allow it, he’d hug him again, but he knows his son well enough to know that keeping himself together is as important to him as comfort right now. He limits himself to a squeeze of his shoulder and not saying so many of the things he wants to.

“How’s Blaine?” Burt is proud of how steady he keeps his voice. It’s his job. He has to be calm, even if he feels nearly as helpless as his son beside him.

“We don’t know anything,” Kurt says. His face crumples a little, and he shrugs.

“Are his parents - ?”

Kurt jerks his head toward the double doors nearby. “A few minutes ago. I can’t - The nurses won’t let me in.“ He swallows again, shakes his head. “They said it’s for family only.”

There’s a lot Burt doesn’t know about family. Life hasn’t taken the path he’d expected when he’d first held his baby boy in his arms, and he knows he’s made a lot of mistakes along the way as a single dad and now a remarried man, but there’s one thing he knows for certain about family: it’s about love.

He’s always going to think of Kurt first, before Carole, before Finn, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t all family. He’s always going to worry about Kurt’s safety first, because Kurt’s been his since the first time he felt him kick, since the first minute Burt knew he existed at all, but as happy as he is to see his son without a scratch on him, there are two other boys in his family, too, and one of them is behind those doors. Hurt. Hurt by another _kid_. Hurt by another kid while trying to protect Kurt from harm.

If that wasn’t love, Burt didn’t know what was.

“What the hell do they know about family?” he asks.

Kurt huffs out a tiny laugh, but the gratitude in his expression shines bright.

Burt looks around, because there’s only one thing to do. “Do they sell coffee in this place?

“Yes, uh... there’s a machine around the corner, I think.”

“Okay, I’m going to go find it, and then you’re finally going to teach me how to kill those stupid pigs with those birds while we wait.”

Kurt nods, his eyes wide, and he hesitates for a second as Burt gets up. “Dad?”

Burt looks down at his son, so grown-up, so young.

“Thank you.”

“You’re not the only one who cares about him, kid,” Burt tells him, and if Kurt’s smile is weak and filled with the threat of tears it’s still a smile.


End file.
